


now I know she'll never leave me

by thegirlwiththeironheart



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode: s02e07 Blood At The Wheel, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Idiots in Love, Jack Has A Realization, MFMM, My First Work in This Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththeironheart/pseuds/thegirlwiththeironheart
Summary: Jack loses Phryne, or so he thinks. The ramifications of the misunderstanding will shake Jack Robinson to his very core.





	1. I let her steal into my melancholy heart

It was a relatively quiet morning at the City South Police Station, for which Jack Robinson was thankful.

God, he was tired. He hadn't been sleeping, and weariness had settled into his very bones. He was used to exhaustion, of course. He was tired of the day in, day out, when there were unimaginable horrors happening all over the city, every day, and even without the daily stream of bad news, he had enough in his past to keep him up at night.

This wasn't about the nightmares, though. Not this time. 

Constable Collins had the morning off, and Jack could almost certainly say that he was with Miss Williams. Miss Fisher had scolded him last week for keeping Collins working so late so often. Jack smiled to himself, sipping his tea. He had reminded her that Collins' job was  _constable,_ and all other activities had to come second.

"Now where's the fun in that?" she had replied, a sly smile on her signature red lips.

Miss Fisher...he had developed an enormous respect for her. She was smart, and funny, and she drove him insane; but he was also fairly certain that without her, he would have been sent to an asylum a long while ago. She distracted him, and he didn't want to be grateful, but he was. Distractions, in his experience, were the main reason for mistakes, and mistakes had consequences. He'd learned that the hard way, many times over--but he was grateful for her all the same. Seeing her had become something to look forward to, rather than dread. For all her hair-brained schemes, he respected her ingenuity and input, even if he wished she would stay a bit further away from his crime scenes.

 

/ / / / / /

 

Morning bled into afternoon, and Jack started wondering after Collins.

 _Miss Fisher has to learn not to keep my constable for her own use,_ he thought, sure Collins had been caught up on some investigation or another of hers.

Someone knocked on his door. "Inspector? Telephone for you."

Jack nodded and went to the front desk to answer it. "City South, Inspector Robinson speaking."

"Sir, it's Constable Collins. Sir--"

"Ah, Collins. Has Miss Fisher got you chasing down leads again?"

"Well, that's why I'm calling, sir, about Miss Fisher. You see, there's been an accident."

Jack froze in place. "Accident?"

"A car accident, sir. A crash."

Jack's mouth went dry. He could barely hear Collins over the deafening rush of white noise in his ears; he gripped the counter, feeling as if someone had punched him in the stomach, and he found that his skin had turned clammy and cold.

He cleared his throat. "Wh..where, Collins?"

He writes down the address with a shaking hand, the letters and numbers barely legible, and hangs up, promising to be there shortly.

He paused, steadying himself, and swallowed past the lump in his throat. A car crash...

He blinked himself out of his daze, grabbed his hat, and headed towards the car.

 

/ / / / /

 

Jack had to force himself to focus on the road ahead. He felt as if he were driving through a dark, narrow tunnel, and he kept a white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

 _Of course,_ he thought, _**of course** it was a car crash. She always drives too fast, far too fast..._

But the Hispano was her pride and joy. She never came out and said it, but she might as well have: she loved driving for the freedom it gave her.

Yes...she valued her freedom above all else. Her independence, her autonomy--she wouldn't be Miss Fisher if she ever had to dance to someone else's tune. She belonged wholly to herself, which is probably why she never listened to him.

_Phryne...if only you weren't so recklessly stubborn, so thoughtlessly brave, so uncaring about the consequences._

His policeman's mind thought of practicalities. Next of kin: she had mentioned once that her parents still lived in London, but of course Mrs. Stanley would have to be informed first--he dreaded having to make that call, but he wouldn't dare leave it to anyone else, she is his responsibility, it would be his duty to call her aunt--he thought of her cousin Arthur, who loved her so, and wondered how his mother would tell him, if at all--and Dr. MacMillian also had to be called, and would probably insist on doing an examination herself--Cec and Bert, Mr. Butler, all would need to be told--he wondered if Collins had told Miss Williams yet, if he'd want to do it himself--and Janey, her ward, traveling across the continent, _what would become of her_ \--all would have to be told, all her old friends who swept in and out of her life, of his investigations, from America or England or France, widows and Chinese heirs and magazine editors, all of them so loved by her, and she so beloved by them _\--Phryne, Phryne, Phryne--_

 

/ / / / / / 

 

He hit the breaks abruptly and stopped the car, but didn't move to get out. His hands were still clutching the wheel; he had to force himself to unclench them, and realized they were trembling. His whole body was trembling, and covered in a cold sweat.

Jack closed his eyes, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelids. He couldn't get out. He didn't want Collins to see him like this, but more than that, he didn't want to see...her.

Seeing it would make it real. If he simply stayed put, he thought childishly, maybe it would all be over...another nightmare.

He waited for rationality to kick in, for the logic to shake him out of this state and remind him that it should be no surprise that he would outlive her, that she would fly out of his life as quickly as she came. That was the nature of Phyrne, he knew. She zipped about, dabbling in this and that, never settling in one place for long. She flew high and fast and free, but never bothered to stop and think about what she was leaving behind.

_She's left me behind. She's left me alone._

The thought sends shockwaves of pain through his chest and sinks like lead in his stomach. Move, he has to move, he can't bear to sit and think and mourn. There would be time enough for that later, when no one was looking, time to process and catalogue his grief and pack it away with all the other nightmares, from the war, from his life.

The thought of pushing her away into some crevice of his mind was painful, more painful than he could have ever imagined. He wanted her to be always front and center, always by his side.

Jack opened the car door. He had to see her now. If he saw her, it would become real, and he could know exactly what he was dealing with, and could then do his job. He had to do his job, and he had to snap out of the stupor he was in. It was masochistic, maybe, but he had never been particularly kind to himself.

Phryne was kind.

He walked up the road, towards Collins, and the car, driven into a tree, its driver covered with a white sheet.

Phryne was kind, yes, and witty, and smart, and funny, and resourceful and creative and beautiful and--and she was dead. And here he was, alive.

"Sir, I hope I've done the right thing by calling you in, I know motor vehicles accidents aren't your department, but--"

He waves a hand at Collins without looking at him. "I just want to see her."

Yes, he had to see her now. He had to shock himself out of this, this, unbearable state.

"She's still in the vehicle, sir."

Jack paused next to the car. The sight of the blood on the sheet made him dizzy, and he didn't have the energy to chastise himself, to remind himself that he's seen worse. He took off his hat and left it on the car. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and reached to slowly, carefully, gingerly lift the sheet.

It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. Another moment to realize that the victim was _not_ Phryne Fisher. His head spins like a mad top, and he looks up at Collins.

"Who's this?"


	2. I rage against the trials of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack realizes a mistake has been made, on multiple counts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is SO SHORT but I've had almost no time to write!! I'm not sure how long this thing is going to be in total, it started off as a one-shot but now I'm thinking it'll be at least five chapters (including these two, so probably about three more?). I'm not sure when I'll get to write/post the next one, but when I do I'll post a link on my MFMM sideblog @almostseeyouplayingcroquet.
> 
> And thank you everyone for your comments and kudos on chapter one! Can't tell you all the happy flailing I did every time I saw another notification. <3 <3 <3

“Who is this?”

 Jack felt lightheaded with relief. It wasn’t Phryne.

 He turned to Collins for an explanation, but before his constable could answer, another voice does.

 “Gertrude Hayes, though she preferred Gerty.”

Jack turned, and his absolute relief threatened to crush him in a wave.

Phryne. 

There she was, clad in black and white, her porcelain face elegantly painted, her lipsticked mouth on a determined pout, her eyes gazing up at him through long, thick eyelashes. He was paralyzed, unable to make a sound, unable to move towards her, or away, or to give any indication that he had been worried—that he had felt anything at all.

He couldn’t look at her. He focused, instead, on the car, on the white sheet, the scarf dragging in the dirt. Anything but her. “Miss Fisher.”

 _Alive, alive, alive._ He had the overwhelming urge to hold her, which alarmed him.

Collins’ words buzzed in his ear like flies; he could barely hear past the overwhelming swirl of emotions that were bubbling up inside him.

“Just passing by, were you?” he asked her.

“You know better than that, Jack,” she said, and her voice saying his name was like a thousand pricks on a needle. “My Adventuress Club was sponsoring Gerty’s entry into the road rally race this Saturday.”

“Your Adventuress Club,” he murmured. _Adventuress Club, of all the…_

“For like-minded women,” she explained, putting her gloved hands on her hips. “I’m Madame President.”

“Of course you are,” he replied, in a voice that hardly sounded like his own.

“This was no accident, Jack,” Miss Fisher continued, “Apart from myself, there is no one I trust more behind the wheel than Gerty Haynes. She flew down the roads like Boadicea in her chariot!”

She was clearly distraught, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to muster up any sympathy. Every word she spoke was like a bee sting, or a snake bite, something biting him deep under his skin. He clutched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath.

“Even a Celtic queen has the odd accident,” he said, his voice more steady now, thankfully.

“This is an impeccably maintained rally racer! Wheels don’t simply just fall off!” she shouted.

“Depends how recklessly you drive the car,” he responded coolly.

She’s looking at him, he can tell, but he doesn’t turn his head. Instead, she reaches for the scarf caught in the door. “If Gerty had been driving along with this scarf through the door, it would be filthy! Look at it, it’s spotless.” She held up the red fabric for him to see.

Logic struggled to work its way to the forefront of his mind. “If she was driving at speed, the scarf would fly out behind her,” he protested, motioning with his hands to illustrate his point.

Anger clouded her face, and her usually calm and collected voice raised a few octaves. “Why are you not willing to entertain the idea of foul play?!”

“Why ask my opinion if you’re not willing to listen to it?!” he retorted.

She blinked in surprise. “Because...that usually doesn’t bother you!”

“Who’s her next of kin?”  _Next of kin..._ he refused to think about how, just a few moments ago, he had been planning on contacting  _her_ next of kin.

“Her brother, Claude.” She, too, had seemed to calm herself momentarily.

He nodded, then looked to Collins, and motioned to their respective cars. As he walked away, he could feel her eyes on his back. He had probably hurt her, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His throat ached, his eyes burned, he felt sick to his stomach; all he wanted was to get away from her. Far, far away.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't tell me you've never thought about exactly what went through his head during this episode. It kills me EVERY. TIME. I've mapped out basically their whole relationship. You can PINPOINT the minute he realizes he's in love (but that'll be in a future chapter).
> 
> Title from "Evermore" from the live action Beauty & The Beast.


End file.
